Master of Death
by Ether-Flames
Summary: The Deathly Hallows were sought after once upon a time. People wanted to rule over Death. But the Hallows have very high standards, and those who don't meet those standards have very unfortunate endings. Only the very best of wizard-kind can hold one of them. Harry Potter holds all three. This is the story of how he did it.
1. Chapter 1: Plans in Motion

Chapter 1: Plans in Motion

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, I'd be rich.**

Harry Potter peered around the corridor to see his relatives load into the car. The Dursleys were composed of Harry's Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and their child, Dudley Dursley.

Aunt Petunia was a vain, nosy woman with a horse-like face and long neck. She was a full-time housewife- not that she did much, Harry was old enough to do some of the chores, she said, so he did most of the menial work. Her long neck was often used in her habit of spying and gossiping.

Uncle Vernon was a large, beefy man with an explosive temper. He worked at Grunnings, a drill company, yelling at all of his subordinates while sucking up to his superiors. The man was well-known among his peers, and not in a positive way. Unfortunately, he behaved perfectly in front of authorities.

Harry's cousin, Dudley was a spoiled brat that took after his father. He frequently threw tantrums and bullied the other children around. He wasn't very bright.

Today was his fourth birthday and his parents were bringing him to a fair in London.

Harry didn't like his relatives at all. They didn't like him either. In fact, he was supposed to be locked in the cupboard for the day. After all, they couldn't let him ruin his cousin's birthday.

Harry watched them drive off. He wasn't in his cupboard, because he had learned that if you put a hair pin into the keyhole and wiggled it a bit, you could unlock the door without the key. He had accordingly stole one of Aunt Petunia's for this very occasion, so he was able to see them go.

Once they were out of sight, Harry turned to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He took the milk jug and an egg from the very back of the container. Putting this on the table, he drew the pancake batter from a cupboard above the counter.

Harry also took a pan. He cracked the egg and let it sizzle in the pan on the stove top. He grabbed a single clean plate. When the egg was done, he expertly flipped it onto the plate. Harry mixed the batter, poured it into the pan, and started cooking.

He carefully siphoned one of Aunt Petunia's napkins from the very back and bottom of her stacks. It was plain cream and very old, but in pristine condition. He placed the egg and some of the completed pancakes in it and put the folded napkin in his cupboard, under his cot, against the inner wall. Harry ate the remaining pancakes and sifted the batter so that it was even in its box. That way, even if his aunt checked, she wouldn't notice.

Harry next moved to Dudley's second bedroom. It was vastly empty, except for the large pile of broken toys in the corner. He sat in the center of the room cross-legged and closed his eyes.

An hour later, the bright emerald orbs shot open as he observed the glowing white sphere in front of him that hadn't been there a second before. He always meditated before using his powers, it helped him concentrate. It floated and when he concentrated, he was able to move it around. He stared intently at it and it changed its shape to vaguely resemble a long winding snake. It wasn't very detailed, because Harry had never seen a snake.

Harry could talk to snakes, he knew, though he didn't know how he knew- just that he did. He hadn't ever tried it before because Aunt Petunia would doubtlessly notice him and the consequences would be dire. Despite that, he felt a strange kinship to these stealthy creatures as he watched the one before him.

It wasn't alive, he knew, just as surely as he knew that it was connected to his energy. He knew a lot of things he shouldn't know. His aunt called it 'freakish'. His thoughts turned to other subjects and the serpent faded while trailing around his shoulders. He felt the tiniest bit tired. It was a side affect of his power.

He walked to Dudley's first bedroom, where he kept his computer. Harry spent two hours entertaining himself and learning certain subjects that seemed pertinent; like how to cook and clean quickly and efficiently, how to meditate and control yourself, and other things that he needed to survive at the Dursleys. He lost himself in the flow of information.

A car rumbled up the driveway and Harry froze with a deer in the headlights look on his face before exploding into action.

He hurriedly erased his history and turned off the computer before stumbling down the stairs, fleeing into his cupboard, closing, and locking the door. His heart pounding from the adrenaline, he listened for the sound of footsteps. His young mind thought of the possibilities. What if they find that the computer's still warm? Did he leave tracks? Did they hear his pounding footsteps?

Harry leaned into a dark corner as the footsteps sounded down the corridor. The door was slammed open. Uncle Vernon's large face peered at him. "Get out, freak," he demanded. Harry blinked rapidly, as if he was really adjusting to the light and hadn't jumped in two minutes ago. He stepped out of the shadows and was immediately grabbed by the collar.

Uncle Vernon swung and bodily threw Harry down the corridor. He rolled as he landed, banging his head on the way but absorbing some of the impact. He winced slightly, but kept his mouth shut.

"You're cooking dinner, boy," he heard. Harry merely blinked, disguising the pain of the shock. His ribs hurt and he was sure they had been bruised from yesterday's punishment, his arm had a sick-looking day old yellow bruise covering it from shoulder to elbow, and his neck was bright red from the swinging but Harry bit back the pain.

Any vulnerability would be exploited, he knew, for his family's entertainment.

He got up, keeping a tight hold on his expression, and walked to the kitchen. He felt a sudden and horrid rage then.

As he cut the vegetables, he scowled, his face darkening. Harry imagined that the skinny carrot was Aunt Petunia, the large bell pepper was Uncle Vernon, and the round mushroom was Dudley. He chopped harder at the thought, a sadistic grin appearing.

The grin disappeared as he dumped them on the pan, sizzling alongside the chicken. Harry remembered that he couldn't really do anything, that he was three years old, that being here was better than on the streets.

His face was back to neutral as he put the food on the plate. It wasn't fair. The world wasn't fair, he reminded himself as he carefully arranged the vegetables. Harry snook away some of it and the littlest bits of meat. He swallowed it immediately, ignoring the scalding pain on his tongue and belly. Eating was more important.

He served the dishes.

Later, in his cupboard, Harry plotted revenge. While he couldn't do much, there were certain small pranks that simply couldn't be traced back to him.

He had certain control over his strange power and that power was only limited by his strength and energy. He could afford to spend a day or two pretending to be sick as he recovered. His mind roved over the possibilities.

Harry knew that he was uncannily smart. While, Aunt Petunia tried her best to hide it, Harry could tell that he unnerved her. His eyes, a very vivid green, unsettled most people but his differences didn't stop there.

Harry knew that other children didn't get locked in a cupboard for breaking a plate. He'd seen how life was like outside. As his family tried to lie to him, over and over again, he knew to take everything with a whole cup of salt.

Harry knew that three year olds who could read and write and plan were rare. When they popped up, they were treasured.

Yet, he didn't leave his relatives because, at least with them, he knew the dangers. Out there, there were muggers and murderers and gangs. Here, he could plot and gather information in relative safety. Out there, it was doubtful he would be able to gather anything at all. Child services were a possibility, but Harry knew that there were worse families than the Dursleys, even if it was hard to believe.

Even so, he knew that the Dursleys were decidedly not the normal loving family that they portrayed and that one day, he would be strong enough to fight back.

Until then, he would gather his resources and train himself for success. There was a big world out there and he would be ready to face it.

~MoD~MoD~MoD~

Not far away, a three year old girl had ducked under a table and was devising a way to get the food on top of it without getting caught. She loved her parents, she really did, but formal functions was not her thing. She pulled at the hem of her fancy purple dress.

There were too many serious adults that had no time for children and no other kids around her age. The five year old boy earlier had rebuffed her attempts to say hello, sprouting some nonsense that she was a baby and much too young to be alone.

He had the nerve to find her parents and tell them this! She huffed at the thought. In her opinion, the kick she had sent at his shins was a light retribution.

She crouched lower as a pointed leather shoe nearly kicked her in the face. There! She spotted shy-looking girl around her age that actually looked intelligent.

So little Grace Smith was off on another daring adventure, dodging between pant legs and under dresses; she ran under tables and wove around chairs. Making friends was the best kind of fun.

MoD~MoD~MoD~

Albus Dumbledore was sitting behind the Headmaster's desk, sucking on a lemon drop and pondering the issue of one Harry Potter. The boy was powerful, he knew. His monitors were detecting ever increasing signs of magic.

Just as he thought this, an intricate instrument on his desk gave a little poof of steam. Should he bind his magic? Young Potter would be nearing his fourth birthday by now, surely not old enough to notice.

He wondered how he would look like by now. Unruly hair, bright green eyes, and perhaps a pair of glasses. Not very tall, though. It was cruel and he hated to raise a child like this, but what choice did he have?

Riddle wasn't truly gone and he needed a worthy champion to go against him. He only hoped the child would forgive him when the time came.

Nearby, a wolf's piercing howl sent shivers down his back. He hoped this wasn't an omen. If it was, it wasn't a good one.

Albus turned his thoughts away as a knock sounded on the door.

"Come in, Severus," he said calmly, peering over his half-moon glasses.

A pale man in his twenties, dressed in black robes, opened the door and scowled at him.

"Well? What did you ask me here for?" He sounded impatient. Just then, another howl rang out and the man's expression soured.

Albus observed him keenly, and when the man raised an eyebrow, he finally replied.

"Nothing, Severus. You may go."

Severus sneered at him before turning to leave, his robes billowing about him. Albus smiled slightly. Severus may not look like it, but he would do fine in his role.

MoD~MoD~MoD~

From high above, two people were watching.

"I wish he hadn't gotten his hooks into them so early," the teenage girl complained.

She played with a silver ankh impatiently and tossed her hair to look up at her companion, a tall man with harsh brown eyes.

The man smiled down at her, with a wry grin that betrayed almost no warmth.

"He knows it's his only chance to get them before we do," he said. His voice was surprisingly gentle for all its depth.

"It's not fair!" she exclaimed.

"You're behaving surprisingly mature for a two year old."

She glared at him. "Shut up," she muttered.

"You know, if it makes you feel better, Father will be keeping an eye on them."

She stared up at him in shock. "How'd you get him to do that?" she asked. "He hasn't done it for anyone else."

"I think he likes them."

"Like the way he liked _them_?" Her voice wobbled a bit at 'them'.

There was a pause.

The brown-eyed man sighed.

"I don't know," he admitted.

Another silence.

"I hope that they won't- I mean, won't be like _them,_" she said. "But now that I think of it, they do feel like _them_, don't they?" She sounded like she already knew the answer and she didn't like it.

Another sigh. "Yes." His voice was solemn. "Yes, they do."

The girl suddenly found her black sneakers interesting as the man looked sadly at her. The ankh lied still against her black shirt. Her dark hair obscured her face.

"I miss her," she said almost inaudibly. There was a sad and vulnerable note in her tone.

She looked away and a black cloak materialized from thin air to cover her. A scythe appeared in a gloved hand as she winked out of existence.

The man looked down at his white and gold robes and said, "I do, too."

A staff appeared in his hand and he, too, disappeared.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~MoD~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Hi, everyone. This is my first story and I'm kind of just testing the waters to see if I can write. I'll try to update every week or so. R&R, please.**


	2. Chapter 2: Hogwarts Invitation

Chapter 2: Hogwarts Invitation

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I wish I did but I'm not genius.**

It was Saturday morning, and Grace Smith was bored. Absolutely, completely bored. Her friends were all on vacation somewhere, the electricity had crashed, and she'd been grounded for going into the forest without telling anyone.

She was stuck in her room until, she glanced at her watch, 8:00 pm. Her small collection of novels and reference books completely failed to entertain her and the computer was down due to said electricity shortage.

Grace glanced out the window. The old oak tree was close enough that maybe if she jumped far enough-

"Grace!" her mother called, interrupting her contemplation on whether or not she'd be willing to jump off a second-floor window to relieve her boredom.

"Grace! There's someone here to speak with you!"

"Coming," she said loudly. Grace idly pondered who it was.

She checked the date, July 27. She wasn't expecting anyone.

"Grace!"

"I'll be right there!"

She opened the polished wooden door to her bedroom and skipped down the stairs, two at a time, opening her mouth to greet whoever was there.

"Hello."

Whoever Grace may have thought of, she did not expect a stern-looking woman to step forward. The woman had her graying hair in a tight bun and her eyes peered over her glasses in a way that made her feel instantly reprimanded.

Grace ignored this and immediately replied with a cheerful, "Hello!" She wondered who the woman was. The question was answered immediately, almost as if she had been reading her mind.

"I am Professor McGonagall from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," she said.

Grace could see immediately that her father's smile had tightened and her mother's welcoming expression became decidedly more fixed. Was this woman mentally stable? Magic didn't exist. The woman paused, as if expecting some outburst or exclamation.

Her mother simply blinked. "I'm sorry?"

Grace was envious of her composure.

The professor continued. "Has something ever happened around your daughter? Something that couldn't be explained without venturing into the extraordinary?"

Her mother and father glanced at each other and that seemed to be the cue that Professor McGonagall was waiting for.

"Your daughter is what we call a muggleborn, a first-generation witch who can perform magic. I have been tasked with giving you this letter, and guiding you, should you accept." Here, she placed a heavy, yellow envelope on the small glass table between them. Her father picked it up and broke the wax seal. He read the letter silently and handed it over to her mother.

"How do we know this is true?" he asked professionally. David Smith was a scientist at heart. Always was, always will be. This had a very slim chance of being real, but if it was...

The professor smiled, as if she had been expecting the question all along. She took out a wooden stick, less than a foot long, and performed a few movements.

Grace watched in awe as the table shifted and deformed, slowly turning into a small cat. Now, Grace didn't care much for science, but this must have broken a hundred laws at the least.

She looked back at her mother, who was staring intently at the changed furniture, as if willing it to turn back and for this all to be a dream. Her father analyzed it intently, pushing his glassed up the bridge of his nose. She looked at the bemused professor, who was watching it all with a slight smile.

The cat suddenly decided to move, and jumped fluidly onto the couch. It looked around and darted over to where Grace was still standing, curling around her legs, then shooting off.

"Will I learn how to do that?" was the first question out of her mouth. Her mother shot her a glare.

Katherine Smith had been trying to pretend this was a dream. Her daughter's reply shattered that dream.

"Maybe when you're older," was the kind response.

Grace looked between her parents.

"What else can you do?" She had always been very curious. If this 'magic' had any limits, she wanted to know what and why . If there were rules, she wanted to at least attempt to break them. She was, at heart, a troublemaker.

Professor McGonagall seemed a bit surprised, but she smiled warmly. Then, instead of a woman, there was a cat. A little tabby cat.

"You're adorable!" Grace exclaimed. She pat the cat on the head a few times before it turned back, revealing a disgruntled woman.

"Miss Smith, I would appreciate it if you do not repeat that in the future," she admonished.

"Alright." Grace was unfazed. "Anything else?"

A swish and flick of the stick and the couch they were sitting on began to rise smoothly. Grace gingerly reached for the floor with a toe. The couch landed and she made a noise of protest.

"Can you-"

"Grace, that's enough," her mother's voice was firm. Her father leaned back, disappointed.

"So this hog-whatsit, it's a school for magic?" He asked.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is indeed where your daughter can learn such things," she confirmed.

"Well, Grace isn't going," he said. "I've already got her enrolled in St Joseph's, where she can learn enough to have a stable future, with none of this mumbo-jumbo."

"Dad!"

"David!"

His eyes hardened. "I'll bet it'll be more dangerous than our world, and you would have us ignorant of these hazards. If witches and wizards are real, it isn't that much of a stretch to imagine dragons and trolls. How about your world's version of criminals and thugs? At least in our world, we know what to expect."

All three of the other occupants of the room were speechless. Grace hadn't ever seen her father like this and Katherine, well Katherine had only seen her husband like this once, and it hadn't been pretty.

McGonagall nodded her head. "Your intelligence has not been exaggerated a single bit, Doctor."

"But-" Grace was ignored by the adults.

"True, we have dragons and trolls and things beyond your world. It is also true that there are dark wizards. It is doubly true that your daughter will be defenseless against them without her magic."

"What do you mean she'll be defenseless? You can't take away her magic, can you? Can't she learn at home? And if those creatures and people haven't bothered us within the last century, why would they start now?"

"No, we cannot take away her magic, at least not exactly. However, without training, her magic will be wild, uncontrolled. It may cause immense destruction. To prevent this, it will be tightly bound and your memories erased. It is-" she sounded pained. "-not entirely true that they haven't bothered you." She got ready to recount a painful memory. "Remember a decade ago?"

"Those were you?" David had not believed the ridiculous rumors of sinkholes and sudden mugging accounts. It was not possible for so many incidents to occur at the same rate and area for eleven years and not be connected. Besides, none of the accounts added up. There was no hard proof. Then, it had suddenly stopped. There were still a few stray accounts after that, but the majority had stopped. It had sounded very suspicious to the new rookie, but he had dismissed it.

"Yes, those were us." David turned his attention to the admission. "There was a terrible war that stopped a decade ago. It spilled over to your world. You have to understand, our people were scattered, our government incapable, our forces weak after a century of peace. They called themselves Deatheaters, their leader was a man whose name we do not pronounce even to this day. He was powerful and merciless. He opposed those whose magic did not come from long lines of ancestry, like you. Those were dark ages when no one knew who to trust, when civilians cowered under beds and behind wards. Others fought." Her tone made it clear which of the two categories she placed herself in.

"No one was safe. And then, the war was miraculously stopped. James and Lily Potter were the bravest people I knew. James was part of the aurors, our police force. Lily fought beside him, even when she was pregnant. I knew them well. Then, one day, they just disappeared, went into hiding, along with another couple. Little Harry Potter was born. He was the most beautiful baby boy, with his mother's green eyes and his father's messy hair." Her tone was fond.

"The leader of the Deatheaters, he went after them, Halloween, 1981. James and Lily died that night. You-know-who, that's what we called him. Whenever he wanted someone dead, they died. Sirius Black, a friend of the Potters, he betrayed them to You-know-who. Harry, by all means, should have died that night. There is a curse, the Killing curse, that kills everything it touched. Harry, as a one year old, survived the impossible. He has only a lightning scar on his fore-head to remember the night by. He's famous now. Some call him Boy-who-lived, others, the Savior. They sell his image." She smiled wryly.

"The Prophet, our newspaper, has been promoting the Boy-who-lived angle for weeks now. He goes to Hogwarts this year."

She turned to look at the stock-still family. Katherine had silent tears down her cheeks. David wasn't much better. Grace had her face obscured by long blonde hair as she looked into her lap.

"You know," the professor was less professional now, more friendly. "You're right. I never planned to tell you any of this. That's an oversight on my part. There's just something about you." She shook her head.

"I'll bring you to our shopping center, Diagon Alley, where we buy everything. If you still refuse, I warn you that your memories will be wiped clean. That'll be a shame," she looked up. "I get the sense that Miss Smith here is very special, even among wizards," she smiled.

~MoD~MoD~MoD~

Harry felt different today. His special powers had gotten a boost when he woke up this morning. Something else was different too. He just couldn't put his finger on it.

"Get out, freak!" Petunia's screech rang through the house. "Go look after the bacon," she said quieter, when she opened the cupboard where he slept. "It's Dudley's birthday and I want everything to be perfect."

So that's what it was. When Petunia opened her mouth to scream at him for hesitating, he wondered if it was worth it to use his powers. He dismissed the notion. Using them took a lot of energy. He had gotten better and stronger, of course. There was a wider menu of options for him but some courses took enough energy for Harry to feel lethargic for days.

He ignored his aunt, shouldering past her to the kitchen. Harry wasn't tall for his age, but thanks to his secret thieving of necessary food, he wasn't short either.

He walked into the kitchen as Vernon sat down with a newspaper. "Comb your hair!" was shouted at him as he turned the bacon.

Harry's raven hair was messy and grew all over the place. About once a week, Vernon shouted at him to get a haircut. About once a week, Harry ignored him. It didn't matter anyway; Harry's hair only ever grew as long as he wanted it to. It didn't arrange itself in the way he wanted, though. Over the years, Harry had gotten used to it. He couldn't bring himself to care, either way.

As he flipped the eggs, he listened with only half an ear to the drama caused by Dudley's entrance. A thrill came over him as he heard that Mrs Figg couldn't take him. He didn't hold anything against the elderly woman, but he wasn't nearly as fanatical about cats as she was. If she couldn't take him, then he would be able to go to the zoo because the Dursleys didn't dare leave him alone in the house after an incident when he turned five.

Deep down, he knew that he didn't have to go to the zoo; it was unnecessary. He could spend the time on Dudley's computers; it would be more productive. But he was a child, and he hadn't ever been allowed to have much of a childhood. This had a chance for fun.

He stole a bit of the food while Petunia wasn't looking and served the rest to the family. He was slightly optimistic as he was sent to get the mail. He sifted through the stack as Vernon made a horrid joke about letter bombs. Harry was shocked as he uncovered one addressed to him. He stored it in the loose rags that he used for clothing.

Petunia's gaze analyzed him intently, as if she knew what he was hiding. Harry carefully wiped his face to neutral. Did she know? He stared back at her. His penetrating gaze met hers. She looked away after a few brief seconds. Harry knew the answer already. No, she didn't, but she suspected. How?

Dudley threw a fit that made the elder Dursleys glare at him, but he stopped when his friend, Piers Polkiss, came in. Harry didn't like Polkiss any more than Dudley. He was a coward, but held people's arms when the rest of Dudley's gang beat them.

Harry ignored the two boys as they prodded and poked him in the car, prompting them to do it harder. When his patience began to run thin, he sent an electric shock through them. Dudley was first to whine and tell.

"Mum, Harry just shocked me!" He wasn't alone, however.

"Mrs Dursley, he did it to me too!" Harry's patience was tiptoeing a thin line now.

"Boy!" It ran out. Vernon was driving, so it had been Petunia that turned to yell at him. But Harry had had enough. He glared at her, using the power available to him, he worked on making her afraid. It worked. Petunia suddenly turned pale and looked away. She didn't say another word.

Harry felt a bit tired. It wasn't enough to make him sweat, but it was tiring. He shook his head, sure that today would be a metaphorical headache.

Five hours later...

It was. Harry had finally proved that he could talk to snakes, but the glass vanishing had ran on his emotions. This made it less tiring and Harry had to figure _that_ out. It would improve his powers if his emotions were the key. He began making theories and disproving them.

The metaphorical headache turned real. That night he looked over the letter. He was going to be ready. Harry hummed as he exercised his magic, slipping out the door after the lights went out to exercise his body.

He went to sleep with a smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~MoD~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Whew! This is the last of my pre-written chapters. I'll try to update tomorrow. R&R and I'll give you virtual cookies. But I'm terrible at baking so I'll probably just food poison you. So don't eat them.**

***Smoke alarms start blaring.* Bye!**


	3. Chapter 3: Hogwarts Express

Chapter 3: Hogwarts Express

**Disclaimer: **

**E-F: Of course I own Harry Potter.**

**Harry: You don't.**

**E-F: I do.**

**Harry: You do.**

**E-F: I don't.**

**Pause.**

**E-F: I hate you.**

**Harry: The why are you writing about me?**

**E-F: Shut up.**

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~MoD~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Grace pushed the trolley through the barrier. If the doorway was there, she'd be fine. If it wasn't, it might hurt a bit and she'd blame it on her messed up sense of direction in crowds if someone asked.

After the insightful trip through Diagon Alley, they had finally reached an agreement. Grace would go to Hogwarts, but magic wasn't going to be all she learned. She was to bring an entire trunk's worth of books. She was to read a five chapters a week and mail written summaries to her parents. During the summer, she would go to summer school.

Professor McGonagall had highlighted the ins and outs of Wizarding Britain. If she ever had to leave the magical world, she would still have a stable life with necessities. Grace would hopefully be able to go back and forth between the two smoothly.

The professor had kindly charmed her trunks so she could push them. Her father had then spent the next afternoon inspecting it. He'd been making and rejecting theories for all of the last month. The trunks still looked the same, made with nice dark cherry wood and decorated with bright silver. They costed quite a bit.

Grace was thankful for them. Her trunks were heavy and full to bursting with books and supplies. She couldn't carry a single one by herself. And, in order to keep up her normal education, there was a beautiful barn owl on top of everything.

She didn't want to put Ace in the cramped cage and her mother agreed. As soon as Ace had been bought, he'd been in for a check up. Ace had a superior immunity and an expanded life-span. Dr Katherine Smith had been astounded by what magic could do. It took some of Professor McGonagall's help, but he was now registered in the muggle world. Grace had his hood and jesses, even though the owl salesman said he didn't need it. Better safe than sorry.

The wall was now in sight. Grace stopped in front of it. It was now or never. She took a deep breath, and pushed through.

Her ears were immediately bombarded by a cacophony of sound. Children shrieked as parents stood and chatted, sometimes shouting over the noise to be heard. Tearful goodbyes were said as children were hugged by their mothers.

She opened her eyes to see bright fire-engine red. A beautiful antique-looking train stood, billowing thick gray smoke.

Grace briefly worried for the ecosystem before noticing that the smoke hit a barrier in the sky and disappeared. _Maybe it's an illusion, _she thought, _it runs on magic, doesn't it?_ A large crowd of mixed ages and genders stood around.

A lot of them wore the heavy robes that she had bought as school uniform.

Grace and her parents had nodded at each other on seeing them, acknowledging the fact that the Wizarding world was different. They might as well pretend that it's another country entirely.

Not everyone wore the robes, however. Grace noticed a few normal-looking people scattered here and there. In fact, she noticed a small group of them next to a gaggle of red-heads.

Grace turned to walk to them, sure that this would be the start of another adventure. After all, making friends was the best kind of fun.

~MoD~MoD~MdD~

Harry was having fun. He stood before his enraged relatives as they yelled and screamed at him.

"How dare you! After all we've done for you, freak-" Petunia's screeching could be heard by the neighbors.

Harry saw Mrs Gosp peer over the fence as she gardened, wondering why the image-conscious Mrs Dursley would shout like that.

Petunia suddenly seemed to realize that this and stopped mid-rant.

Harry stood simply, straight and tall instead of the meek persona he usually projected. He smiled wryly as he thought about it.

It was finally time, time for him to play. He thought this day wouldn't come for years, but he wasn't complaining. He had shown barely a glimpse of what he could do over the years, little incidents that slipped over the cracks of his control. Not anymore.

In a way, he felt pity towards his 'family'. They were controlled by their emotions, or at least Petunia was. There was a blinding jealousy there, in her eyes. Envy flashed an ugly color when she looked at him. He smiled a humorless smile at the thought. She had nothing to be envious of. He may be able to do things that she couldn't, but he was neglected, beaten, friendless. And all of it was her fault.

Harry mentally sighed and turned his thoughts away.

Vernon was slightly delusional. He actually wanted to help Harry, believing that beating the 'freakishness' out of him would help him. He believed that Harry would be thankful to him for this. But he had anger issues. They weren't issues at first but he had needed fuel and reasons to 'help' Harry, so he directed all that anger at him. Now, there was true hate in those eyes, hate that blinded him whenever he saw Harry. He believed the false reasons he, himself, set up. That Harry was the reason for every little thing gone wrong.

Dudley was a victim just as much as Harry. He was raised in a horrible way and got away with everything so he genuinely believed he was right. He had no sense, no morals, no intelligence, at all. He was the proof and result of the Dursleys' parenting, a kinda innocent sort.

He stood confused as Vernon started yelling at his dark-haired cousin.

"We swore we would beat it out of you when we got you! You would be normal-"

Harry had had enough. He glanced at his new watch; he bought it at Diagon Alley some tie ago. It was time to leave.

Vernon abruptly stopped as he began to float an inch off the ground. He looked up to see Harry's eyes staring intensely at him and remembered why he didn't ever look into the boy's eyes.

There was _something_ there that unnerved him. It was freakish, unnatural. But he was the man of the family. An eleven year old shouldn't scare him.

"Boy! Put me-" He floated a foot off the ground and began to wobble. Harry let him, helping a few times, tilting this way and that.

"Yes, _Uncle? _I'm listening," he said sweetly.

This angered the man in the air. "You! Stop this-"

"Yes, _sir_," the man was floated to the ceiling and dropped unceremoniously on the ground.

"Would you like anything else?" Vernon was mute. "How about you, _Aunty_?"

He spun around to see her hold her purse up and bash him in the face. Petunia may be almost anorexic, but she packed a wallop. _What does she put in that?_ Harry wondered. That hideous green purse went with her everywhere.

As the purse came down again, it stopped in mid-air. Petunia's eyes widened as she tried to wrestle her bag from his invisible hold. Meanwhile, Dudley charged toward him, like an obese bull calf. He was off the ground in seconds. Harry watched, bemused at his struggles.

Vernon stood up, a bit dazed from the fall.

"Let my son down, you freak!" Petunia forewent the heavy purse and began to pound on him with her fists. Harry showed no sign of pain but her hands were _bony!_

He glanced at the watch again as Petunia's hands slapped his back.

"I'll be going now." He grabbed the trunk beside him like it was weightless, which it was. As he walked away, Dudley was gently put down.

Harry raised his wand, an elder with dragon heart-string. It didn't feel quite _right_, but it was the best match out of the others. The old man, Ollivander, said something about curiosity, a destiny, and a girl just like him but Harry didn't push. He had spent two hours in there. He didn't want to stay another second. So he opened the door and said a polite but hurried goodbye; he ran out of there. It was a point of embarrassment, now that he thought about it.

An obscenely purple triple-decker bus appeared out of nowhere and haphazardly parked, touching a tree.

Harry eyed it in distrust, but when the door swung open, he stepped in.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus- hey, what's a kid like ye doin' alone?" A young man asked him.

"I need to go to King's Cross Station," Harry said, ignoring his comment.

"Hear that, Ernie? We're goin' ta King's Cross Station," the man said cheerfully. Ernie seemed to be an old man with crazy white hair and thick glasses. Harry wasn't quite sure that he was qualified to drive, considering the fact that a tree was practically touching the windscreen.

"Name's Stan, that'll be eleven sickles," he continued. "If ye wan' hot chocolate, that's two sickles and we'll give ye hot water, fer another two, with a toothbrush to boot."

Harry handed over the silver coins. He wondered, if he pawned the coins and transferred the money earned into more coins, wouldn't he be rich? He'd have to discreetly ask about it later. He didn't need the money, but it was a fail-safe just in case.

His mind was brought back to the question. "No, thanks," he said.

"Ye sure? We got those toothbrushes in both yellow and purple."

"I'm sure I won't need them." Harry sat in a window seat just in time, as the bus began to move erratically.

_How's he able to avoid obstacles driving like that? _Harry noticed that inanimate objects just moved out of way. _Oh._ He blinked as a house jumped to the side. _Alright, that explains it._ He wondered how it worked.

Then, the bus stopped with no warning, dumping him on the floor. His nose touched the flowery armchair in front of him.

Harry slowly got up, glaring at Stan's upright back.

"Say, what's yer name?" Stan asked.

Harry lifted his trunk. As he stepped out the door, he answered.

"Harry. Harry Potter."

. He could feel the shock and awe radiating from behind him. He smirked at the way he imagined Stan's expression.

Harry hefted his trunk and stepped into the crowd.

_Ready or not, here I come. _He looked up at the signs with a smile.

Behind him, Stan's jaw dropped open and his eyes widened.

"Ernie, buddy. We had Harry Potter on our bus," his mind caught up with his mouth.

"Ernie! We had Harry Potter on our bus!" He started jumping around. The bus's door closed automatically before speeding off.

~MoD~MoD~MoD~

Grace opened the compartment door. Two other first years were already there.

"May I come in?" she asked.

A boy looked up from his book. "Sure," he said. The only other occupant, a girl with dark hair, just nodded and stared out the window.

A moment passed with no sound except their breathing. The boy flipped a page. Grace frowned. She couldn't stand prolonged silences.

"What's your name?" she asked, half-expecting them to ignore her.

The girl slowly turned back from the window, her face cut in half by lights and shadows. She snook a glance at her, then looked around the room. Her eyes landed on the boy with his nose in a book, who hadn't looked up yet, before landing on Grace again.

"Me?" Her voice was tentative, quiet.

Grace wanted a table to bang her head against. She tried instead for a patient tone of voice.

"Both of you," she said. Her calm voice was a bit strained.

The boy finally, _finally_, shut his book. He looked up at the two girls before leaning back in his seat.

"Well, my name is Terry, Terry Boot, and this is Dahlia Nukelam," he said, gesturing toward the girl. Dahlia kept quiet.

"Don't mind her, she's a bit shy," he explained.

"I'm Grace, Grace Smith."

Just as it seemed that he was going to open his book again, she blurted out.

"What house do you want to be sorted in?"

His half-way opened book slammed close again. He looked at her, exasperated.

"You can't tell?" he asked, holding up the book, which Grace could now see was an edition of _Hogwarts, A History._

"Ravenclaw," he said slowly, as if to a particularly dense kindergartener.

Grace felt her nervousness get replaced with irritation. She was just trying to be friendly!

"It's not like every bookworm would be sorted in Ravenclaw!" she snapped. "What if they're brave or hard-working? No one is just 'smart', with no other personality! You can be a bookworm and learn to be really sneaky because you don't want to be disturbed," she said hotly.

Dahlia smiled slightly from her corner.

Terry held his hands up in a placating gesture. "Okay, okay. No need to get so fired up about it."

"How about you?" Grace asked Dahlia. Her demeanor was suddenly changed from annoyed to curious. "Come on, I won't bite," she said, when Dahlia made no move to speak.

Dahlia grinned humorously at the last statement.

"I'll probably get into Hufflepuff," she said.

"I didn't ask where you think you'll go. I asked where you want to go," Grace stated. The other girl seemed to have almost no self-esteem whatsoever. Not that there was anything about Hufflepuff, but the way that she said it, half-hearted and resigned.

"Hmm...I think I'd like to go to Gryffindor," Dahlia replied, suddenly more confident. Then, she seemed to realize this and shrink back on herself.

Terry placed his book beside him.

"There you go!" Grace beamed at her. "Now I think I'd like to go to Gryffindor, too!"

Dahlia straightened again. A second passed and Grace's mind groped desperately for a subject to keep her that way.

"What's your favorite color?"

The girl smiled warmly, realizing what she was trying to do but playing along anyways.

She pretended to ponder the question. "Blue," she answered, after a few moments. "I think," she added.

"I think?" Grace raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, I think. That's what you use your brain for, you know," Dahlia seemed surprised at her own audacity but Grace interrupted before she could contemplate it deeper.

"I like purple," she said. "Purple is much better than blue," she boasted childishly.

Dahlia was amused "If you say so."

"It's true!" Grace protested.

"There, there. It's alright, I won't judge," she said maturely. "Even if you're delusional and blue is obviously better than purple," she added.

"Hey!" Grace pouted.

Terry just looked on as he was ignored. Dahlia was his cousin on his mother's side and he was glad that she found a friend. She had never been very outgoing, and for good reason.

"How about you?" He was startled out of his reverie.

"Huh?" He asked.

"What's your favorite color?" Grace repeated.

"Oh, I like blue," he answered.

The train chose that exact moment to start moving, and the three became friends over the long trip, laughing and sharing stories.

~MoD~MoD~MoD~

Harry sat down in an empty compartment. He could hear a wall of sound outside, but didn't investigate.

He was still trapped in elation from the fact that he was finally free of the Dursleys. He'd have to figure out a way to stay away in the summer, but that could be dealt with later. For now, he would bask in the feeling. He was _free._

He was interrupted from his thoughts by his door slamming open.

"H-hi," the culprit stuttered. He was a bit pudgy and seemed very nervous.

" H-have you seen a t-toad?"

Harry took pity on him and promptly began to dig in his trunk.

The boy seemed to take this as rejection and started to leave.

"Wait," Harry said firmly, before the boy could step out the door. "Sit," he motioned at a seat.

The boy came back and tentatively sat down. He fidgeted a bit.

"What's your name?" Harry asked conversationally as he took a book out.

"N-Neville L-Longbottom."

Harry flipped a few pages. There was a spell somewhere in there, a summoning spell. He ignored the fact that the book had been intended for fifth-years.

There! Harry found it. He briefly wondered whether he should just 'accio toad', but ruled it out. There might be other toads aboard and he didn't want to make people angry by kidnapping their pets. There could be ugly consequences.

"What's your toad called?" He asked. Maybe a name could narrow it down.

"Trevor."

"Hmm... Okay," Harry said, thinking. He took out his wand and took a deep breath, focusing on what he wanted to do.

"Accio Trevor-" What if there were people named Trevor? He didn't want to see if accio could summon humans. "-the toad," he hurriedly added.

There was nothing.

Just as he was about to try again with 'accio Trevor, Neville Longbottom's toad', it worked. A toad flew through the air, heading straight for Harry.

He ducked and it smacked into the glass behind him. Harry frowned. He would have to find a way to lessen the impact.

"I'm sorry for that," he said.

"It's alright," Neville said. "I wouldn't have gotten him back if you hadn't." He seemed to grow a bit in confidence.

"What spell was that?"

"A summoning charm, from The Standard Book of Efficient Charms by Darling Charisma."

"Oh."

Their compartment door slammed open for the second time.

"I've heard that Harry Potter's on the train to Hogwarts this year. Are you him?"

A blonde boy with sharp aristocratic features stood in the doorway. Behind him were two larger boys that seemed to be his bodyguards.

Harry's eyes assessed them. The blonde boy was confident, very confident. The goon on the left was bored and fidgety. The one on the right was more curious and a bit brighter. Harry immediately named them Dumb and Dumber. Overall, they were about as threatening as Dudley and Dennis Crosseied, one of Dudley's bullying friends, combined. That was if they didn't use magic.

Harry decided to reply. "You know, normally, people introduce themselves before asking someone else. Who's asking?"

The boy in front flushed a pale pink. "Draco, Draco Malfoy."

"I thought that the scion of the noble house of Malfoy would be more becoming."

Draco flushed a bit deeper.

"This is Neville Longbottom-"

"The squib?" Draco couldn't stop himself.

"-scion of the ancient house of Longbottom," Harry finished.

"Who are you?"

"I thought you knew. You came in exclaiming my name, after all," he said. "But I'll repeat. My name is Harry, Harry Potter."

Harry was aware of Neville's jaw dropping from beside him and Draco's face break into a smug smile.

"And I don't like people insulting my friends."

His face wasn't so smug anymore.

Draco didn't hurry to apologize, but when he did, it was done formally.

"I, Draco Malfoy, formally apologize to Neville Longbottom. I acknowledge that my words were uncalled for and unfitting. I hope to make amends and accept any punishment for my actions, within reason."

Neville immediately accepted.

Draco spoke again.

"So, what's your favorite Quidditch Team?"

The rest of the trip passed by quickly.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~MoD~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

**This is a bit longer than my usual. **

**If Draco seems a bit OC to you, remember that he's a kid and this is his first time away from his parents. He's excited and a bit nervous, even if he doesn't show it. He's also rather impulsive isn't he?**

**R&R, please.**

**Harry: Please don't.**

**Me: *Glares* Shut up. Ignore him. R&R!**


	4. Chapter 4: The Sorting Feast

Chapter 4: The Sorting Feast

**I'm really sorry for such a late posting. I've had a bad case of writer's block and a worse series of cold, sore throat, cough, etc. I've also had loads of homework. By the way, the entire story is completely unbeta'd. **

**Disclaimer: I, as master of the universe, own Harry Potter.**

**Grace: (Drags me by ear to the screen) apologize for lying.**

**Me: Never!**

Grace stopped talking as the train slowed down to a stop.

"We're finally here!"

Terry nodded tiredly in acknowledgement, but Grace didn't see it. _Hogwarts, a History_ was upside-down and open on top of his head, covering his face. She tugged Dahlia to her feet.

"Passengers, please leave your luggage and your pets. They will be waiting for you in your rooms."

"Come on!"

Terry's book fell off as she rudely pulled him up. Hard.

He glared at her from his position on the floor.

"Get up, get up, get up!" She exclaimed impatiently.

"Come on!"

Terry muttered not so nice things under his breath. _How does she keep that much energy after seven hours?_ He wondered.

Dahlia watched, amused, from the doorway.

"Are you guys finally ready to go?" she asked.

"I am, but Terry won't get up!"

Terry finally stood up.

"Let's go!"

He grumbled as he followed her out of the compartment.

They got off the train and onto a platform. It was dark and the stars were up. Terry explained that they were in a wizarding town called Hogsmeade, which was just outside Hogwarts.

The older years streamed off to what looked like horseless carriages while the rest just congregated on the spot. Grace looked around. There was a lake not far off and the town was dimly lit up. Everything gave off a homely feeling.

There was a slight commotion at the train exit. She looked on curiously. People were gathered around a single spot.

Three boys descended onto the platform. One was a brown-haired with kind brown eyes. He seemed hesitant at the attention. Another boy stood beside him. He had platinum blonde hair and aristocratic features. He shot a stern look at the first boy and the brown-eyed boy straightened up. The blonde boy seemed to be the one at the center of attention.

"Malfoy," a wealthy-looking italian greeted him.

A dark-haired girl pushed her way to the front.

"Draco!"

A cold blonde stood to the side.

"Malfoy."

He greeted the blonde first.

"Cousin, how are you?"

"Well. And you?" she replied stiffly.

"Very well, thank you for asking. Have I introduced my companions?"

Every eye was turned to the two boys beside him.

"This," Malfoy gestured at the brown-haired boy, "is Neville Longbottom."

Whispers broke out.

Grace caught snatches of words. 'Squib' was said a lot, as was the word 'disgrace'.

Despite this, he kept his head held high. Grace wondered how he did it, as just seconds ago, he'd looked ready to bolt.

"And this-" Grace looked at the third companion. He had silky raven locks and bright green eyes. "-is Harry Potter."

It was suddenly very silent.

Grace didn't get it.

Harry Potter looked perfectly ordinary to her. Perhaps the only exceptional thing about him was his eyes. They were the most intense green she had ever seen. It was as if he could see straight through you.

"Hello" he broke the silence. He looked kind of amused at the reactions actually. Some people jumped at the sound of his voice. It was smooth and charismatic, and nice to hear.

Grace shook herself. _What am I thinking? _She resolved to ignore this 'Harry Potter' as long as possible.

That wouldn't be very long at all.

~MoD~MoD~MoD~

Harry stepped down from the train. Neville was a bit nervous and Draco looked very expectant of what might come next. They strode forward together, step matching step, a show of power. All three of them came from élite families, all three were heir, and the world knew it.

Neville hesitated on the last step and Draco shot him a look. Pure-bloods and half-bloods that sought favor crowded around them. Very few were worthy of Draco's attention, apparently.

"Malfoy." An italian boy greeted them.

"Draco!" A slightly pug-faced dark-haired girl pushed her way to the front. Harry smirked at the Draco's irritation. None of it showed on his face, of course, but Harry _knew._

"Malfoy," another pretty girl said. She had the same blonde hair as Draco and cold blue eyes, as opposed to his cool gray ones. It did not take a genius to figure that they were related.

"Cousin, how are you?"

Harry tuned out the pleasantries until he and Neville were introduced. He fought the urge to do unpleasant things to the people that whispered and insulted his friends. He scanned the faces, committing them to memory. They would pay, later on, as long as Neville was his companion. He could feel Draco do the same.

"And this, is Harry Potter."

The result was rather entertaining. Every single person dropped into total silence. The whispers stopped entirely. He scanned the crowd again.

"Hello." He smirked as people jumped. They all looked between shock and awe. A red-headed boy with a smudge on his nose started whispering.

Then, a _thump thump thump_ sounded on the shore. People turned.

"Are all of ye firs'-years?" A behemoth of a man stood on the lake-side. He had shaggy thick hair and stood at least ten feet tall. His image was of a rather intimidating figure.

"I'm sorry to keep ye waitin'," he said. That image was shattered into a million pieces as the man chuckled and walked forward. "Come on, then. Best not to keep 'em waiting. They'd be mighty hungry be the time we get there."

He led the way down the slippery slope to the dark waters. There, a small fleet of rickety wooden boats were waiting for them. Harry eyed them suspiciously. They didn't look fit to hold one person, much less the four that the giant told them to group into.

He watched as other people got into them. When nothing sunk, he finally got into his own, where Neville, Draco, and the italian boy that Draco introduced as Blaise Zabini joined him.

He let his thoughts roam as he trailed his hand in the water. Dark ripples spread from where he dipped. The black water caressed his hand, almost sentiently.

He followed the gazes of the students around him when they gasped, and found the image of a beautiful castle. A part of Harry's mind analyzed it, but the rest of him just sat back to admire it.

_ It's beautiful. And already feels like home._

He smiled at the thought. _Home._

~MoD~MoD~MoD~

Grace wasn't very comfortable in the crowded room. She certainly wasn't smiling when she nearly jumped out of her skin when a group of ghosts passed through the wall _right next to her!_

She listened to a boy with bright red hair talk about how they would have to wrestle a troll to get sorted into a house. _Ridiculous,_ she thought, even as her heart went _pit-a-pat, _skipping a few beats now and then.

She really hoped that the idea was as ridiculous to her as it was to whoever ran the school. _They wouldn't make us fight, would they? We haven't been taught anything at all! _

She wondered how that would test character. _Maybe Gryffindors would stay and fight; Ravenclaws would find some way to outsmart it; Hufflepuffs would work together; and Slytherins- what would Slytherins do? _She honestly didn't know. Plus, that wouldn't work out anyhow. Not everyone was exactly one character trait. In fact, _no one _was just one character trait.

The doors slammed open. Professor McGonagall, who'd already given a speech just minutes before, had returned.

"Move along now," her voice was sharp and firm. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

They were led back to the large entrance hall. Grace glanced about. Earlier, they hadn't much time to look around until Professor McGonagall ushered them into the small side room. There was the odd mirror here and there, a few rusty suits of armor, and a couple of small chairs pressed against the wall. The walls themselves were cold gray stone, and Grace wasn't quite comfortable being so near to them. Thankfully, they didn't stay there long.

The heavy oak door swung open and the first-years nervously crowded through. Grace could hear hundreds of voices chatting in the homely atmosphere. Candles lit the hall in softly glowing light and the ceiling reflected the sky. _This sounds like one of those cheesy novels my mom read, except there are too many people. _

She noticed the opulent gold silverware and the beautiful tablecloths. Banners flew above. There were different colors for each table; bold red and gold; warm yellow and black; deep blue and bronze; cold silver and green. It was beautiful and grand.

At the very front, was a patched and tattered hat on a three-legged stool. Nothing looked like it was set up for them to wrestle a troll, thank God. Grace had no idea how they actually intended to sort them, but it didn't look like it was going to be painful, _unless..._ Grace eyed the hat suspiciously. What did they put in that hat?

The hat shifted. _By itself!_ It moved so that its corners hung off the edge. Now, she had already seen hags and wands and transparent ghosts, but this was bizarre. A charmed hat? _Maybe this is why witches wore pointed hats._ She thought back to the one sitting innocently in her trunk. She was going to check it later.

The hat's folds looked suspiciously like a face to her. She looked around. Did no one else see it? There was an eye, and another eye, and a mouth. It also looked really dirty. How long had it been since someone washed it?_ I hope I don't have to put it on, _she thought.

The fold that Grace deemed a mouth ripped open. It began to sing, horribly off-pitch.

_"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty_

_ But don't judge on what you see_

_ I'll eat myself if you can find_

_ A smarter hat than me_

_ You can keep your bowlers black_

_ Your top hats sleek and tall_

_ For I am the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_ And I can cap them all._

_ There's nothing hidden in your head_

_ The Sorting Hat can't see_

_ So try me on and I will tell you_

_ Where you ought to be._

_ You might belong in Gryffindor _

_ Where dwell the brave at heart_

_ Their daring, nerve, and chivalry _

_ Set Gryffindors apart;_

_ You might belong in Hufflepuff_

_ Where they are just and loyal_

_ Those patient Hufflepufs are true _

_ And unafraid of toil;_

_ Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw_

_ If you've a ready mind_

_ Where those of wit and learning _

_ Will always find their kind;_

_ Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_ You'll find your real friends_

_ Those cunning folk use any means_

_ To achieve their ends._

_ So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

_ And don't get in a flap_

_ You're in safe hands_

_ Though I have none_

_ For I'm a thinking cap!"_

_ So, _Grace thought wryly. _An unwashed, mind-reading, horrible at singing hat is going to Sort us. It just wants us to put it on._ She sighed, resigned. _Where's a good old bucket of soap and water when you need one?_

Professor McGonagall stood at an off-the-side podium, where she began to read out names.

"Abbot, Hannah!"

A petite blonde girl in pigtails went up. Grace felt sorry for the her, being the first to be called. That didn't stop her from being grateful that her last name started with an _S._

The Hat was soon comfortably settled on her head. It stayed there for a breath-holding two seconds.

"Hufflepuff!" It shouted.

Grace settled herself in for a long wait. McGonagall called a name, owner of said name would go up, the Hat would sit on their heads for who knows how long, shout a House name, person goes to appropriate table, etc. The cycle went on and on.

Grace allowed herself to relax. The butterflies in her stomach only managed to make her hungry. Was no one else starving? Several people at various tables looked bored and uninterested, but no one protested the wait.

"Potter, Harry!"

Suddenly, no one was uninterested or bored. Almost everyone leaned forward expectantly and whispers began to stir.

"Harry Potter?"

"_The _Harry Potter?"

"He's in this year?"

The dark-haired boy from earlier paid them no mind, except to flash a smile at both sides as he went up.

Grace _still_ didn't get why he was so special. What was it about him that made Professor McGonagall choke on his name and previously indifferent people to pay him undivided attention?

Grace frowned as she tried to remember. Professor McGonagall had said something about him, but that memory paled in comparison to the afternoon excursion that day. She honestly couldn't remember. _No, wait. She mentioned some 'Boy-Who-Lived' and 'Savior', didn't she?_

Finally, the Hat seemed to have come to a decision. It took a deep breath(_ do hats breath?)_ and shouted.

"Slytherin!"

For some reason, everyone seemed shocked. _What is it that Slytherin stood for again? Oh, yeah. Cunning and ambition, right? What's wrong with that?_

Potter got up and walked over to Malfoy, who had also been sorted to Slytherin. He whispered something in his ear and the two chuckled quietly. The sound was clearly heard over the enormous silence accumulated by shock.

Potter raised an eyebrow.

"Well? Are the rest of them going to be Sorted or what?"

The two smirked at the rest of the Hall.

Professor McGonagall gathered her senses and resumed.

"Smith, Grace!"

Grace started. She didn't realize it was her turn, so fixated was she upon Potter. She was one of the last to be Sorted.

She stood up and walked toward the Hat, the butterflies back in full force. Her legs felt oddly trembling, and she didn't know whether it was from all the people watching her, or the fact that the Hat's decision would be influential and lasting. She sat down, feeling the Hat settle on her head. Grace took a deep breath.

~MoD~MoD~MoD~

Harry looked over the Great Hall. It was grand, certainly, but rather ostentatious. The whole place was dripping in precious metals, beautiful woodwork, and masterful portraits. Harry absolutely loved it.

He watched, outwardly impassive as Neville was Sorted( Gryffindor, just like he thought) and Draco got settled at his own table( Slytherin, of course). He watched as others got up, pale and shaking, to await their verdict, then stumbling to their Houses in relief. It was all highly amusing.

"Potter, Harry!"

He sat down on the stool, floppy Hat on his head.

_Hello, Harry Potter, _came an echoing voice. _You have an interesting mind here. I can see everything in it._

Harry felt confused for a moment before responding. _Hi. I presume that you are the Hat?_

_ Certainly not. The Hat is simply a communication device, _the voice snapped.

_ Then, _and Harry felt silly to ask, _who are you?_

_ It matters not. Now, as I was saying, you have a wondrous mind in this head of yours. Do you know that students have been anticipating your arrival for years? I, myself am a bit curious. You aren't what I expected, you know? _

_ But that's enough of that, _it said, just as he was going to ask.

_ You are intelligent, observant, and cunning. You are also prideful, arrogant, and stupid. Brave, patient, and kind; manipulative, uncaring, and untrustworthy. What shall I do with you, Harry Potter? You can fit any of those four, though Gryffindor and Slytherin stand out. Ravenclaw is neutral, and Hufflepuff will be a tough fit._

Harry was unnerved by all these revelations. How could a Hat sit on his head for few moment and just announce him like that? He felt exposed and vulnerable.

_Can you tell this to anyone else? _He asked cautiously. He didn't want anyone to blurt out secrets like that.

_My Hat is bound from reporting anything to anyone; secrets are secrets._

_ I prefer Slytherin, then._

_ Then, Slytherin it is. _

"Slytherin!"

_Be careful in the snake pit, child. Even if you can command them, they are treacherous and dark, _Harry heard it say before he took it off his head.

He sat beside Draco, stunned and absorbing what he had just learned but automatically answering his question. It wasn't until Draco discreetly jabbed him sharply in the side that he realized another question was being asked of him.

"-you living until now?" He heard.

Harry racked his memory and did something he always did when he tried to think and listen at the same time. His eyes narrowed the tiniest bit- the only outward sign. He looked _inwards, _toward his mind, heading to the section that recorded outside interactions when he wasn't paying attention. Unbeknownst to him, his mind forwarded at whirlwind speeds until three hours of playback could seem five seconds.

_The pug-faced girl from earlier had sat down across from Draco and introduced herself as Pansy Parkinson. The cool blonde, named Daphne Greengrass, had sat across from him. She listened to Draco and Parkinson talk: the new Minister Fudge was an idiot and wore ridiculous puke green bowler hats; the Devlin Dragons were winning the World Cup for the fifth time in the row; a reporter, Rita Skeeter looked rather promising and produced dirt on many families. _

_ After a while, the discussion turned to him. Draco deflected the majority of them until Parkinson tugged on his arm, distracting him and allowing Greengrass to ask an obviously long-anticipated question._

_ "Where were you living until now?"_

Harry smirked a bit, returning to the present.

"I believe that that is rather personal, Greengrass. I wonder, where do you live?"

He started eating from his untouched plate, leaving his thoughts at the back of his mind. _There'll be more time for that later. For now, it's best to stick to the present._

~MoD~MoD~MoD~

Grace snuggled into her warm red and gold sheets and soft pillow. The hangings from her bed obscured the outside world but she could still see the barest outlines of the moon from the nearest window. It was bright and full and she was kept awake staring at it.

_Tomorrow will be a brand new day, but for now, I'll sleep._

And so her head fell onto the pillow as she found herself floating away.

**R&R please.**


	5. Chapter 5: The First Day

Chapter 5: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

**Sorry for the long wait. I got really really sick, so enjoy!**

**Grace: You forgot the disclaimer!**

**Me: (Yawns, then blinks) What?**

**Snape: The disclaimer, you incompetent brat.**

**Me: Well, that's a bit harsh. I'll have you know-**

**Grace: The disclaimer!**

**Me: Don't interrupt me. Now, as I was saying-**

**Grace: She does not own Harry Potter. **

**Me: That wasn't what I was going to say.**

**Grace: Please ignore her.**

**Me: That's kind of rude!**

**...**

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~MoD~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Harry woke up in a silver and green bed. He panicked before remembering where he was. The sun wasn't up yet and everything was dark. He could dimly see the outlines of the other four-poster beds in the room. If he was home- no, not home, the Dursleys were never home- if he was at Privet Drive, he'd be sneaking out about now for his morning run. Running made his legs strong, and any advantage was appreciated.

He let his head fall back on the pillow. The Dursleys were gone, fading into the past. Harry would make sure he never went back. Even so, he was not one to willingly lose an advantage.

He got up and pushed the silky bed hangings aside. He slept in a dorm now, with three other boys- Draco, Zabini, and a boy named Theodore Nott. He heard shallow breathing; no one else was awake. Harry walked over to the dark window. The stars were still out. The time would be around four o'clock.

He walked back to his bed and sat down. Harry leaned against the headboard, closed his eyes, and went _inwards, _back to his mind. There, he sorted his memories and smoothed his emotions, like he did every morning and evening. It was the reason he didn't have dreams.

Harry discovered that he could look inside his mind after he learned to meditate. It helped his memory and concealing his emotions; controlling his thoughts and making him a superb actor. It also helped at directing his magic, which was an advantage of untold proportions.

He opened his eyes again and prepared for the school day. The Slytherin rules had been explained last evening. The most important ones included: don't get caught, don't reveal weakness, don't fight outside of the common room, take care of yourself, etc. Failure to comply would result in unpleasant consequences.

Professor Snape, their head of house and potions professor, didn't appear to like Harry very much. He'd caught subtle but snide remarks about his father, his name, his fame, everything about him. However, he could make no move against the professor, yet. Harry simply didn't possess enough power or knowledge. This fact would have to be amended, at a later time. For now, Harry simply took note of this transgression.

He grabbed all his basic textbooks and placed them in his bag, plus a few extras. Harry had practiced calligraphy at the Dursleys to prepare for the medieval quills, ink pots, and parchment of the wizarding world. These items quickly disappeared into his bag. His wand was placed on his bedside table as he got dressed. The robes he bought at Madame Malkins were now accented with green. He put those over his normal clothes.

When Harry was done, he set his bag on the bed, stashed his wand up his sleeve, and slipped out the door. His feet padded softly on the stone floor as he walked down the corridor to the common room.

"Going somewhere?"

Harry recognized the snarky voice immediately. He glanced up to see Snape on an armchair, reading a book. He kept quiet and continued walking.

"Well? Are you deaf? I asked you a question, brat."

"Yes, Professor," Harry bit out.

He otherwise ignored the man as he reached the entrance. Before he could step out, a hand reached and grabbed him by the back of his collar. Harry was lifted off the ground, instantly being reminded of Vernon and his many episodes.

Severus dropped the boy when he felt an shock go through him. He looked at Potter in surprise as he felt his arm numb. _What was that?_ He asked himself. _What did the brat do?_ He was taken aback by the sight of fiery green eyes glaring at him. _Lily's eyes_.

_Furious green eyes turned on him. They were standing in a courtyard, with flowers blooming all around. It was beautiful springtime. Her wand was pointed straight at his chest._

_ "I don't want to see you ever again!"_

_ He didn't want to admit how much that hurt him, because it did. To think that after all those years of friendship, she would leave him after a single forbidden word. It hurt like a dagger made of salt, that she would abandon him for a single mistake. But it wasn't just one mistake, was it? A tiny voice said in his head. How many times had she begged you not to associate with them, to reject that dark magic? He squashed that voice._

_ "Lily, I'm sorry I-"_

_ I don't want to lose you, the words went unspoken. I don't want you to hate me. I want to protect you. I want you to stay, and never leave._

_ "You what?"_

_ Those eyes were eating him up, now, burning him alive. He felt his every sin crushing him, condemning him. He stood there, speechless. He hated that look of disappointment in her eyes. He hated having that look directed at him. He hated the tears threatening to escape in her eyes. He hated the suspicious watering in his own eyes. He hated everything abut this situation._

_ "Never mind."_

_ She turned to go. He reached out for her, to tell her he was sorry and he never meant for this to happen, but the moment he touched her, she whipped around and pinned those furious eyes on him again._

"Don't you ever touch me, again!"

Severus was abruptly yanked back from his memories. Shocked, he looked down at the boy, Lily's boy, with the exact green eyes that she had, saying the exact same words she had. He glared right back at him, reminiscent of a scene from so long ago.

Without a word, Potter left and he did nothing to stop him. He was too lost in thoughts of a fiery girl from his childhood- the girl with the sparkling emerald eyes.

~MoD~MoD~MoD~

Albus looked out the window at the child at the center of his web. This would be his last masterpiece, his brilliant finale before he departed for the next great adventure. Albus was sure that he could hold out for a decade more, hopefully long enough to see Harry to finish off Voldemort. He had everything set up. The stone was in Hogwarts, the traps were set, Quirrel was safely near, and the only piece left was the boy himself.

Harry was different than he expected, though. Not that this was bad- he could still modify and redesign bits of the plan to suit the boy, but it was truly curious. The Harry he had expected would be undernourished and meek, desperate for any connection to this amazing new world. He would've inevitably found out more about himself and as a direct result, be sorted into Gryffindor. There were several ways this could be.

The Harry he got was distinctly separate from the one he had constructed in his mind. Gone was the malnourished weakling, the self-conscious child who would do anything to please. In his place was a tall confident boy, with a circle of friends and fans. This much, he could tell. Albus couldn't help but wonder how this came to be. Perhaps Petunia exceeded his expectations and came to her senses. Perhaps her husband was a gentle soul. Perhaps the boy found a mentor. He didn't pry, though. Personal things could stay personal, as long as Albus got what he wanted, for the Greater Good. He doubted that the boy had a normal childhood, however. He simply had too many barely discernible scars and his attitude was not quite innocent enough. He reminded Albus of a certain Tom Riddle, after Tom began to win his own battles. In fact, the parallels between the two were disturbingly many. After all, Harry _did _manage to get into the green robes of Slytherin.

Albus was content to watch, as long as Harry Potter stayed according to Albus's designated path for him. After all, Albus still needed to make sure his pawns would obey his every call. This was a fine game, fitting for his very last. For when was a game interesting when it didn't have any variables?

~MoD~MoD~MoD~

"You can't just toss your wand or words around like that! That makes a bunch of extra variables that change each time!"

Grace stopped twirling the wand between her fingers and turned around to find a bushy-haired girl in her face.

"May I help you?" She asked. Grace was in a bad mood, waking up way too early had taken its toll.

"You're doing it wrong!"

Dahlia, on her other side, who had been floating her own feather perfectly, dropped it. Her concentration broken, she looked towards the source.

"Is that any of your business?"

That was strange. Charms was their first class and nothing major had happened so far. Her friend wasn't normally so rude, so what put her in such a bad mood? She'd been fine at breakfast earlier. Dahlia tried to play the part of peace-maker. She failed miserably.

However, in the end, Grace did manage to float her feather. Right through the ceiling. Dahlia shuddered at the memory.

_Earlier..._

_ "You're doing it wrong!"_

_ "That's none of your business!"_

_ Dahlia tried to butt in. "Guys..."_

_ "Don't interrupt!" Grace shouted at the same time Hermione said,_

_ "We're not guys!"_

_ "Don't talk to my friend like that!"_

_ "As soon as you actually manage a spell!"_

_ "I can do it! How about you!"_

_ In reply, the other girl drew her wand and muttered an angry, "Wingardium Leviosa!"_

_ Her feather trembled as it rose silently._

_ "Your turn.' The smug girl turned back to face Grace._

_ Grace also drew her wand, ignoring her past efforts. With a swift upward swish, she caused the father to float tranquilly in front of her desk._

_ Professor Flitwick hurried by. "Amazing! Non-verbal magic on a first try! 20 points to Gryffindor!"_

_ That was when Dahlia realized that her friend hadn't said the incantation._

_ The feather in mid-air began to tremble. It suddenly shot up and plunged through the ceiling. Bits of stone rained down on the gathered students. _

_ She looked back to see Grace and the other girl still glaring at each other. Grace was starting turn red, her wand still pointing at thin air. The short professor winced as the feather pressed in deeper still, creating ominous cracking noises._

_ The other girl also had her wand out; her feather having never come down. It flew, cutting through the air, directed by her jerky wand movements._

_ More stone fragments crumbled and fell. _

_ Fingers turned white._

_ A crack appeared. _

_ The feather zoomed in a tight circle._

_ "That's enough, girls!" Professor Flitwick seemed as chipper as ever. "If you may kindly return to your seats!" He beamed. "Oh, and Miss Granger, for excellent control, take another 20 points for Gryffindor."_

Now, Grace and Hermione, as they found out her name was, were walking ahead of her, unaffected by the entire incident.

"I never knew we could do that!" Hermione said.

Grace shrugged. "They never said we couldn't."

"I know, but-"

"I even asked permission."

"I never even thought of life after Hogwarts!"

"Yeah, you kind of need a full education to get anywhere in our would."

"Not here, though. Did you hear about that Potter kid?"

"Yeah, he seems really famous around here. Everyone seems so surprised when he got into Slytherin, though."

Dahlia jogged a bit to catch up. "You don't know?" she found herself saying.

"Yeah, muggleborns, remember?"

Hermione just looked at her.

"Well. He defeated this dark lord a bit back, saved the entire Wizarding World, actually, and blocked the Killing Curse, which nobody has ever managed to do before. He's a hero icon, kind of. But Slytherin is filled with blood-purists, people that supported this dark lord. They wanted to kill off all muggleborns. That's why they're so surprised he's in there. In fact. Slytherin is known as evil because..."

~MoD~MoD~MoD~

Harry waited outside the Potions classroom in the dungeons, where it was rather cold. It was his next class, containing a mix of Slytherins and Gryffindors.

The Gryffindors didn't seem to know what to do about him. On one hand, he'd been sorted into the house of evil, from their point of view, and on the other hand, he was _Harry Potter!_ Wizarding Savior, hero, icon.

Some of them were outright hostile, like the red-headed boy on the other side of the corridor that was glaring daggers at him. Some of them were hesitantly friendly, like the blonde girl behind him, who smiled nervously. He grinned right back at her and winked, causing her to duck her head in embarrassment.

He shook his head in amusement. While the fame that came with his name was nerve-shattering, it was also terribly amusing. He didn't feel as confident as he pretended to, but he wasn't a trembling ball of uncertainty, either.

Meanwhile, the red-head had seen her action and was now berating her.

"-shame! He's a just slimy Slytherin like the rest of them!"

Harry walked over and tapped her on the shoulder while the he was still shouting. She looked up.

"Excuse me," he smiled politely. "but is this carrot-head bothering you?"

She nodded hesitantly, glancing at the person in question. Said red-head was fast turning as red as his hair.

"Well then," he turned to the boy with a confidence he didn't feel. "Will Mr. Carrot-top be as kind as to stop harassing Miss..."

"Brown!" she shrunk a bit after realizing just how loud she had said that. "I mean, my name is Lavender Brown." She blushed and ducked her head again.

"Miss Brown, then. Will you kindly stop harassing a member of your own house? I was not made aware that being friendly was a crime. In fact, I thought those of Hufflepuff were known for it."

"Stay out of this, you slimy Slytherin! What I do or don't do is none of your business!" The red-head snapped at him.

"So you admit that you _are _harassing her."

There were whispers from the rest of the class and more than a few giggles. The red-head glanced around furtively, getting more and more red.

"It was all your fault anyway! She betrayed her own house!" He shouted.

"By smiling?"

Now, there was outright laughter.

"She-"

"That's enough from you, Mr. Weasley. 10 points from Gryffindor for yelling in the hallway." A new voice said from behind him.

Harry turned to see Snape, robes billowing around him, coming down the corridor.

"But-" the red-head protested.

"5 more points for talking back to a teacher."

The class filed in, many of the Gryffindors glaring at him for costing them points. Weasley just kept quiet and sulked. Draco and Harry grinned at each other.

Harry didn't know how the incident that morning would affect the professor's attitude toward him, but all he did when he came across his name was sneer.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began. His voice was quiet, but had a dangerous quality to it. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death- if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

_That was a bit off-putting, _Harry thought. _But I had a feeling it would be._ Snape didn't seem the type to like his students very much.

"Potter!"

Despite himself, Harry found his head snapping up. He saw a smirk on his face, but it was gone the next second.

"What would I get if I added the powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. Maybe the incident this morning _had _changed something. The answer to that was in the fourth chapter of their book.

"Draught of Living Death," at the look on his face, Harry quickly added a, "sir."

Was it his imagination, or did a corner of his mouth actually quirk up? Harry decided to ignore it.

"Weasley!"

Carrot-top's head jerked up so hard, Harry wondered if he'd get whiplash.

"Where would you go to look if I asked you to find a bezoar?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't know."

"That's another point from Gryffindor. Didn't care to open the book before you came to class?"

This got his attention.

"What? But-" he cried out.

Snape ignored him.

"Nukelam! What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"They are the same plant, sir." The response came from a girl with soft red hair. Her voice was quiet and meek. She kept her head down the entire time.

"Well? Why aren't you taking notes?" He turned around, robes billowing. He tapped his wand against the board and instructions wrote themselves out.

"Today, we will be making the boil-cure. Begin!"

There was no small amount of fumbling and clattering once those words were heard. No one wanted to get on his bad side.

Harry felt a nudge. He looked at Draco.

"Professor Severus is my god-father, you know. I can just ask him to leave you alone."

"No need," Harry replied. He didn't need anyone else to fight his battles for him.

He got to work, turning up the heat and making sure the cauldrons were at the right temperature, while Draco got their supplies. _So Draco feels comfortable around Snape, enough to call him by his first name. _He filed that information for later.

Draco came back with the supplies. Crabbe and Goyle on either side. _What do they think is going to happen to him on the walk to the supplies closet?_

"Here."

They worked in silence, stopping every once in a while to check the instructions. Harry deviated a few times, correcting himself after a mistake. He wasn't sure if he was doing the right things but he felt an urge to do so and Harry Potter was not one to ignore his instincts.

After a few minutes, there was the noise of a small explosion and Harry looked up, Draco beside him. The air was now filled with foul fumes, even wore than the ones before. When the air cleared up slightly, Neville was covered in angry-looking boils, his cauldron melted. With a wave of Snape's wand, the mess disappeared.

"Stupid brat!" he barked. "You added the porcupine quillsbefore taking the cauldron off the fire didn't you?"

Neville nodded timidly at first, but caught a reassuring glance from Harry, and made his movement smoother.

As Snape sent him to the infirmary, Harry focused on his cauldron once more. Instead of the deep red it was supposed to be at this stage, his lack of attention had caused it to be a light brown. He quickly stirred it five times counter-clockwise and, ignoring the instructions, added a sprinkle of dried nettle and and extra horned slug. Again, ignoring the instructions, he turned the temperature lower and let it stew. The potion turned a dark turquoise, almost, but not quite the desired blue. However, Harry had the feeling that the potion was perfectly potent, and bottled it. Beside his, Draco's potion matched the description perfectly, emitting pale pink smoke instead of Harry's light red.

When they turned it in, Snape held Harry's up.

"Potter, what is this?"

Harry's wasn't the most deviant, but he had picked it out anyway.

"The Boil Cure," he said.

"Then it shouldn't be harmful at all if we test it on," his eyes roamed around the room, finally resting on, "Miss Brown. Let's try it shall we?"

Lavender Brown had five pimples on her left temple, and Harry understood that this was the reason she had been picked out. She walked silently up, taking a deep breath, and swallowed everything in a single go.

Almost immediately, the pimples faded, leaving her with clear, flawless skin. She reached up to touch it, feeling the result, and squealed happily.

The bell rang.

"Dismissed!" Snape's roar could be heard over all the noise.

Harry found himself smiling, satisfied. Perhaps Snape wouldn't be that bad, after all.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~MoD~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

**Alright, for those of you dissatisfied with Snape, Draco, or Dumbledore's actions, I can explain.**

**For Snape: He got reminded of Lily that morning, and no matter what, he can't be cruel to anything Lily, even if he hates Potter. Plus, Harry got his Potions skills from Lily and his instincts. And no, I'm not going to tell you how he just seems to know everything.**

**For Draco: Harry is his first friend without any obvious (to him) outside intentions. So he'll be slightly eager to please. Btw, Neville has the same reasons. He just kinda needs encouragement.**

**For Dumbledore: He isn't exactly evil, but he isn't totally good, either. He's fine with Harry having a personality. In fact, he likes it. First off, he isn't cruel. Secondly, the more Harry is like Voldemort, the more he'll understand him, which ultimately ( in his mind ) enables Harry to defeat him. Either way, he will still make Harry act ccording to the Greator Good.**

**For Snape-haters out there, Snape isn't going to get off that easy, rest assured.**


	6. Chapter 6: Flying

Chapter 5: Flying

**It's past midnight right now, so forgive any mistakes I might make. I rushed. I'm trying to make up for the long delay before chapter 5 by updating faster.**

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~MoD~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Two figures stood in a dark clearing, mist wrapping around them, obscuring their views. One of them was a worn-looking man, perhaps in his thirties. The other was a young teenage girl, dressed In black and covered in shadows. Stark bone-white gravestones rose around them, sentinels of the dark starless night. A small church stood, far off, and the entire place was crawling with haunted ghosts

The man stood rigid , clearly uncomfortable, his pure white robes fluttering in non-existent wind. An aura of power emanated from him. His face was stern, his eyes were cold, and his hair was slightly ruffled.

"Isn't there somewhere more comfortable we could meet?" His eyes tightened around the corners as a wailing specter passed by. The transparent ghost flailed her arms and buried her face in her arms, screaming silently in anguish. She was only one among many pearly-white ghosts. The graveyard was silent.

"Nope," the teen said, popping the 'p'. "Why?" She swung around a lopsided, cross-shaped gravestone, nonchalant despite all the silent suffering around her.

He wiped the top of an arched gravestone and gingerly sat on it.

"You know very well why," he said, his voice slightly strained as he looked around.

"Come on," she rolled her eyes, "we've been working together for decades, shouldn't you be used to it by now?"

"We are opposites for a reason, as you very well know. Just because I work with you does not mean you should take every chance to make me uncomfortable," he said. "Really. Not even I am that cruel," he pointedly stared at a spirit, who had his head in his arms, suffering an obvious pain.

She rolled her eyes. "That's why I have my job and you have yours. I don't mind," she said, picking a spider off her black jeans. "Now, about the Companion issue," she continued.

"Yes. As you know, the Companions have to pass three trials. The Hallows, the Immortals, and the Father. It is nearly impossible for just anyone to pass the first, and absolutely impossible for them to pass the last two. Even those with qualifications will have a truly difficult time. Those that do meet our standards are few and far in between, even through all the dimensions and worlds. For planet Earth and it's few hundred dimensions, the last one was Merlin, Dimension 315, thousands of years ago. Now, with the Hallows..."

~MoD~MoD~MoD~

Harry changed his mind, Snape wasn't bad at all- he was _worse._ He'd already cleaned three bathrooms, twenty-seven cauldrons, and one unused classroom, all for detentions with vague and unreasonable offenses.

"Potter!" Snape would say at dinner. "Detention!"

"For what?" Harry would look up innocently.

"Talking back to the teacher, another detention!" He would bark out.

Harry's ears would turn red as he sat back down, sniggers and pitying glances aimed at him.

Then Draco would lean over. "Do you want me to ask him to leave you alone?" He would ask.

"No need." Harry got up and walked away. "I'm going to the library!" He called over his shoulder.

He would spend at least an hour there, poring over the numerous texts and tomes. His reading speed was rather fast, as he only needed a glance to remember. However, this caused his head to throb painfully, and he often had trouble with focus afterwards. He kept on doing it though, for there were very many spells he could utilize to his advantge.

Today, as the mail came, there was a ruckus over Neville's Remembrall. His forgetful Gryffindor friend's grandmother had sent an expensive one for doing well in Herbology, a class taught by Professor Sprout, Head of Hufflepuff. In the week of classes so far, Neville had shown himself to be a genius at the subject, explained by the fact that his estate had numerous ideal greenhouses.

As Draco got up to walk over, the Gryffindors around Neville tensed. They still hadn't gotten used to the Slytherin's strange friendship toward Neville, who was frankly considered a weakling in their house. Draco was one of the elite of Slytherin, his family name made sure of that, so there was absolutely no reason for him to associate with the, albeit pure-blood, near Squib. Yet, he and Harry continued to do so, astounding them.

With Harry, they could sort of understand. He was the Boy-Who-Lived, a hero icon. Even if he got sorted into Slytherin, he couldn't become evil. He was simply too good. But, Malfoy? Not in a million years.

Draco snatched the glass sphere from Neville's hands. The Gryffindors stayed still for what seemed like eternity. He turned it over in his hand, then tossed it back.

"This is one of the best quality brands out there, but I don't think you'll find much use for it," he told Neville. "It only tells you that you forgot something, not what you forgot."

The people in red and gold relaxed. Harry couldn't exactly blame them.

In the week he'd been here, Slytherins were shown to be cruel and very aggressive when offended. He'd even witnessed a duel on the fifth floor between a lone seventh year snake and two seventh year claws. The Slytherin, a pretty dark-haired girl named Gemma Farley, having won, smoothed her appearance, attended her injuries with a few basic healing spells, and walked off, acting like nothing had ever happened, leaving the losers groaning on the floor, covered in boils and cuts.

H'd walked over and offered his help, but the two girls had glared at him for even suggesting such a thing, passionately telling him to get his arse out of their sights. He'd sighed, pointed his wand at them, and before they could react, mumbled a literary of spells.

"_Tergeo, Tergeo, Tergeo_," all the dried blood from the deeper cuts disappeared, making them wince.

"_Vulnera Sanentur, Vulnera Sanentur_," the cuts sealed up, leaving several sets of pink ridged scars.

"_Ferula_," the brunette winced as her fractured leg snapped into place, bound and splinted.

Harry noticed that the other girl couldn't seem to move her leg. There was no obvious injury. "_Reparifors_," he tried. It didn't work.

"_Episkey, Episkey, Episkey, Episkey_." Most of their scrapes and shallower cuts disappeared.

Feeling quite drained from all the spell usage, Harry stepped back to inspect his work. All in all, the girls looked slightly better, but not as much as he wished. His eyes starting to droop, Harry yawned.

"Go to Madame Pomfrey for the rest," he said groggily. Madame Pomfrey was the school's healer. "But don't tell anyone I did this," he warned. He was one of the few half-bloods in Slytherin, and the only one accepted, in part because of his Potter heritage, in part because of his fame, and in part because of Draco's influence. He didn't want to ruin this.

The brunette helped her companion up. "Thank you," she said shortly. Harry had the feeling it was strained. "But we could've handled ourselves."

"Sure, sure," Harry had waved his hand. "Whatever you say." He'd yawned again and moved on, cursing his own generosity.

The girls had returned later and apologized, thankfully, in private. They explained that Slytherins rarely helped without ulterior motives, but maybe he hadn't known. The brunette had looked skeptic when she said this, pointedly eyeing his posture and mannerisms. Harry had waved them off.

As he walked with Neville and Draco, Slytherins on either side, Harry listened them talk about the flying lesson they were having. Neville admitted to never have flown before, while Draco bragged that he'd been flying since he was six. Crabbe and Goyle just grunted as they flocked Draco. The girls kept quiet.

Harry spotted the two lines of brooms on the ground and a woman with steel gray hair standing beside them. The Gryffindors and Slytherins separated into two distinct lines, green and red.

"Be careful about her," whispered Draco. "That's Madame Hooch. She's all for fair play but prejudiced against Slytherins. My father told me about her."

She _did _seem to narrow her eyes at the Slytherin line. Harry kept a neutral mask.

"Hold your hands out above your brooms and say 'up!'"

Harry complied as several cries of "Up!" rang simultaneously through the air.

His broom smacked firmly against his hand on the first try, along with Draco and a few others scattered through the lines. He gazed around, bright green eyes piercing through anyone who dared to meet them.

Neville seemed to be having some difficulty, as his broom twitched and rolled on the grass. He looked around, seeming to reassure himself that he was not the only one struggling. He wasn't. Plenty of others hadn't gotten their broom to budge, like Weasley and the bushy-haired girl next to him. The girl directly across from Harry in red and gold was grinning at her success. Others were not so lucky.

Harry turned his head again, just in time to see Neville finally succeed. It looked like, to his untrained eye, that his broom was in particularly bad shape. However few bristles it had left were all mangled and there were splinters all along the length of it. Harry could see a bit of blood on Neville's clenched white fingers. Was it his imagination, or was the broom vibrating?

"Now mount your brooms, and on my count, kick off, hover for a bit, before leaning forward and touching down, got it? One, two- hey, get down from there!"

Neville's broom had launched itself into the air, fast getting further away. It twisted and turned wildly, straining to buck its rider off as Madame Hooch shouted at him to get down. Harry wanted to yell at her. _That's not helping! What if he hears you and falls?_

He made a few subtle movements with his wand. "_Silencio._"

Her voice was abruptly cut off and she turned around, furious, searching for the culprit. But by the time she did that, Harry's wand was back up his sleeve and he had a mask of innocent confusion. She glared at the Slytherin line suspiciously.

Up in the air, Neville's broom seemed to be trying to ram itself against the wall. With a start, Harry realized that Neville, no matter how weakly, was actually controlling it, because the broom didn't quite manage to hit the wall, yet.

At this rate, Harry calculated that his fall could be anywhere from twenty to seventy feet. It was a miracle he was holding on. He gripped his own broom tighter. Neville could get anything from a broken wrist to a broken neck if he didn't take initiative. His own fall wouldn't be too terrible, he hoped, if he did fall. _Didn't Draco say he could fly?_ With Draco, the chances of him falling were lower and the chance of him being caught was higher, if he was telling the truth. The chance of success was also higher.

He jabbed the blonde sharply in the side.

"What?" He whispered fiercely, rubbing his sides.

Harry didn't feel sorry at all for his action.

"Can you fly?" he asked.

"Of course, I can! Were you listening at all on the way here?"

Harry jerked his head slightly in Neville's direction. Draco's eyes widened.

"Are you sure? What if you can't fly?"

"You're there, aren't you?"

He just nodded, eyes set. He licked his lips for a moment, as if preparing them for the ride ahead.

"Ready?" Draco asked. "Set, go!"

They quickly mounted their brooms and pushed off. Harry had never felt so exhilarated in his life as they raced through the air. Madame Hooch seemed to have gotten the spell off, because she shouted after them.

"Get down from there! Or I'll have you expelled!"

They ignored her. Harry doubted that the threat held any real promise. Both of them were too influential to be expelled. He looked ahead, wind blowing against his glasses, hair pressed flat against his head, and he _flew._

~MoD~MoD~MoD~

Grace watched as the brown-haired boy from before got yanked around in the air. He was _flying._ It was an uncontrolled flight, but it was still _flying._

_No_, she corrected herself as she watched Potter and Malfoy take to the air. _They are the ones flying._

She looked longingly down at her own broom, then at Madame Hooch, who was still screaming at them to get down, and back to her broom again.

"_No,_" said Hermione. "Absolutely not. You are _not _taking off after them. It's dangerous as it is, already."

Grace had forgotten she was beside her. She looked at her other side, where Dahlia stood.

"No," she said simply.

So Grace stayed put and watched the aerial display.

Twin blurs rocketed at the brown-haired boy, who was narrowly avoiding hitting the castle in various areas, chasing him down. The three of them agilely cut through the air, mesmerizing in their speed.

She wished she was up there, experiencing the thrill of flight.

They raced around the towers, narrowly slamming into any number of them, but relentless in their pursuit.

Grace thought she'd never seen anything more thrilling.

The brown-haired boy's broom took a sudden dive, with both Potter and Malfoy hot on its trail. It pulled up just as suddenly, swerving past the trees and into the Forbidden Forest. The two followed it, plunging into the thick trees.

A moment later, the three were back, climbing gradually higher in their wild dance.

All too soon, Potter and Malfoy caught up to him. One grabbing the broom and the other lifting the boy onto their own. The three of them glided to a rest. The two boys grinned happily at each other, with the third between them, pale and shaking.

"Potter! Malfoy!" a voice shouted. Grace turned to see Snape storming towards them and was suddenly grateful that she wasn't in their shoes, even if they got to fly. Because _nobody _wants to deal with Snape.

"Professor Hooch," Snape said. "I trust you will be able to make sure Longbottom makes his way to the Infirmary?"

She nodded briskly.

"You two are coming with me."

And so as the three walked off, Grace was glad that she was _not _one Harry Potter.

~MoD~MoD~MoD~

Harry wondered what the professor would do. Punishment was likely, but with Draco being his godson, perhaps something else was on his mind. His second theory was proven correct when Snape knocked on Professor McGonagall's classroom and asked for Flint. Draco looked extremely smug.

Flint was a burly boy with a gruff voice and large, meaty hands.

"I recommend these two for the team when they try out," said Snape.

Harry tried to puzzle it out. Try out for what?

"They're a bit scrawny," he said, eyeing them.

"I'll leave them to you," said Snape. "You're already excused for this period.

"You're a Malfoy, aren't you?" He asked Draco.

"Of course!"

"And you're Potter."

Harry didn't reply.

"Let's go," he strode off without waiting for them.

Harry and Draco followed behind, out to the Quidditch pitch, a field with three goals at different elevations on either side, and a small circle in the middle. Tall towers stood in an oval around it.

They were told to wait. Flint went off and came back a little while later, carrying a chest and two brooms. Inside the chest was a collection of balls and two short wooden bats. Two of the balls were black and the size of a bowling ball. They were animated and struggled against the chains holding them in place. There was a single red ball, made of leather and a final golden ball the size of a walnut, with silver wings fluttering.

"There are only two positions that you can ideally play. One, is the seeker, and the other is the chaser. As you know, the seeker's job is to catch the golden snitch, and the chaser's job is to score with the quaffle."

So the snitch was the gold ball and the quaffle was the red one.

"Since seekers are fast, let's start with a race. Both of you will fly from this end of the field to the other. You may have five minutes for warm-up laps, we have to keep this short. What are you waiting for? Go!"

They each picked up a broom and pushed off. This time, Harry experimented, twisting and turning, looping and diving. After five minutes was up, Flint called them back.

"Say, Potter," he said. "How long have you been on the broom?"

Harry decided to go with the truth. "This is my second time."

"Really?"

"Yes."

Flint just grunted and turned.

"On your mark, GO!"

Harry sped forward, as fast he could, reaching the goals in seconds, Draco slightly behind him. He made a tight turn, twisting back the way he came. Flint had them do this several times, and then released the snitch.

Harry's eyes immediately zoomed in on the tiny fluttering ball, following its every movement. When Flint finally let them take off, Harry was on its trail. Draco close behind. The snitch darted down closer to the ground. Harry angled toward it, diving steeply, the ground coming closer. Draco hung back once he saw how close they were but he ignored the danger, eyes fixed on the ball, reaching out a hand, and snatching it out of thin air. His broom skimmed the ground and he rolled off of it.

The process was repeated three times, and Draco caught the Snitch only once.

However, Flint didn't say anything about their performance, just continuing to call out orders. He had them pass the quaffles back and forth, over longer and longer distances. Harry often wasn't very accurate, forcing Draco to dive after the ball.

Then, they scored hoops, taking turns. Draco scored nine out of ten, but Harry barely scraped a four. Afterwards, Flint had a word.

"Malfoy, you're chaser. Potter, you're seeker."

Draco looked slightly disappointed, but Harry had to admit he made a wonderful chaser. He didn't look too disappointed though.

On the way back, Draco crowed, "My father will be proud. On the team in my first year! We're the first first-years to be on the team for the last hundred years."

Harry smiled. "It does seem to be rather the achievement," he admitted.

"Of course it is!" And Draco talked on, about statistics and Quidditch and teams, but Harry was too exhausted to listen.

That night, he fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.

~MoD~MoD~MoD~

"He likes to fly," said the man in white.

She shrugged. "It's not that strange. The dead are released from the hold of the earth."

She held a symbol in her hand. A circle in a triangle, with a line straight down the middle. It glistened a warm gold.

"She was longing to fly, too, ya know," she observed.

"True. Life flitters and flickers, trying to keep itself alive." He too, held a symbol, a circle within an upside-down triangle, with a line running down the center. It shined, a soft silver.

They were the same, but different. Alike, yet opposite. Life and Death.

Two identical sets. The Hallows of Life and Death.

Silver and gold clattered on marble. The room was empty.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~MoD~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

**So yeah. Basically, Life's symbol is Death's, upside-down. I was about to write a short speech after they completed the exercises, but figured that Flint didn't speak much. Harry was terrible as a chaser because I wanted to make him more believable.**

**R&R, please.**


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